Picnic
by captainodonewithyou
Summary: Killian arranges a surprise for Emma outside the castle walls. (pirate)


"Hook," Emma protests, none too firmly, as he leads her out into the gardens.  
"Swan," he answers over his shoulder, and smirks, "You don't have to follow me, love," he adds.  
She knows she could turn around and head back towards the castle at any moment but something keeps her following the eager pirate. It's better than being contained in the castle walls, being hounded constantly by Neal and never being able to breath around Mary Margaret and David's insistence to be constantly beside her. She knows it's wrong of her, that her parents only want to be parents and Neal… just wants to be close to her again. And she is happy to be back with them again.  
But she has forgotten how choking their love is, and with Mary Margaret now pregnant— things feel different. More forced. So before lunch when Hook approached her, when he told her he had a surprise and asked her to follow him, she had been hesitant. But something about the softness of the way he asked, the strange naive excitement in his eyes that hardly was characteristic, she couldn't help but follow him.  
"I don't like surprises," she answers cooly as they come to the vine-covered brick wall that blocks the forest from the flowers.  
"Aye, that's why you've come," he says sarcastically, stepping over a patch of daisies and coming directly up to the wall, "Any qualms with climbing, my dear?" he asks, again looking over his shoulder at her and grinning.  
"Really?" she mutters, looking between him and the wall. His grin widens.  
"Princess, if you want to get out without a guard escort you're going to have to be creative," he watches her and her eyes narrow slightly. How the hell would he know what she wants?  
"I don't-" she begins, eyes still narrowed.  
"You do," he answers, eyebrows shooting up. "Open book," he clarifies simply, and shrugs, "Are you coming or not?"  
She sighs, knowing her answer against her better judgement. He still is watching her, and she knows he fully expects her to roll her eyes and return to the castle. But she steps forward instead, hedging cautiously around the daisies and enjoying the nervous surprise on his face.  
The wall isn't very tall, but it's enough. It extends a bit over a foot over her head, the edge just beyond her fingertips. She glances sideways at Hook and reaches for the wall, trying to find a hold.  
"Need a boost?" he asks, and Emma turns to give him a hard glare despite the fact that she has no idea how she is going to pull herself up.  
His eyebrows raise and she turns back to the wall, grasping some of the ivy and tugging it for hold. When it doesn't break, she puts a foot against the wall and gives the ivy one last tug for good measure.  
"I wouldn't-" he begins, but Emma is already pulling herself up. The ivy holds— that is until she's nearly grasped the top of the wall. Her fingertips brush the ledge and there's a sudden jerk and her stomach leaps as she's suddenly falling backwards and dammit she should've listen to Hook. She doesn't even have time to brace for crashing to the ground before—  
"Alright, Swan?"  
She's looking up into concerned blue eyes, his blue eyes. And she's most certainly not on the ground. She can feel his heartbeat and smell the ocean in his clothes and her initial reaction is to lean nearer to him, to get closer to him, but then she realizes where she is and what she's doing.  
"I'm fine," she mutters, trying to wriggle from his arms without falling on her face. He almost instantly lets down her legs and helps her stand upright.  
Feet safely planted, she straightens and pulls away from his assisting hand abruptly, looking anywhere but at him. He stiffens and she can feel his piercing albeit slightly less concerned gaze anyway. But he slowly sighs, form loosening.  
"How about that hand, love?" he suggests again. When she glares up at him between her eyelashes her smirks and raises an eyebrow teasingly. It makes her want to punch him in the face, but she holds herself back.  
"I can do it myself," she forces the answer past her lips, though she knows full well it's a lie. He does too, but allows her to turn back to the wall.  
She reaches up to find another piece of ivy, grasping it cautiously as she tests it gently. It snaps and she sighs angrily, going for another that snaps just as quickly. She tugs on a few more strands, and they all come off immediately into her palm.  
"Dammit," she growls, now looking around her for a rock or something of the sort to step up on to. When she finds nothing, her eyes drift slowly back to the pirate who now leans against the wall, arms crossed, grinning smugly. He opens his mouth, surely to say something snarky. She's faster.  
"Shut up," she snaps. His open mouth grins wider as his lips slowly fall back together. His eyes sparkle with his unspoken sass, "and give me your damn knee."

She takes the two steps towards him as he kneels to follow her command without hardly a moments hesitation. She locks eyes with him a moment before she steps onto him.  
"Drop me and you're dead," she warns.  
"Wouldn't dream of it, Swan," he assures her.  
And he did catch her, earlier. Trusting him to lift her over a wall isn't that much of a leap of faith, as she is strangely sure the last thing that he wants is to hurt her. She sighs, meets his eyes one final time, and steps cautiously onto his leg. His hand and hook immediately come to her hips to stabilize her, not at all uncomfortably.  
She runs her hands along the wall, and she doesn't have to reach far before she has enough of the top of the wall in her grasp to heave herself up onto it. Only when he's sure she's stable do his hands fall to his sides. She looks down at him.  
"Hand?" she offers in return.  
"I've got a couple inches and a few degrees of muscle strength on you, lass."  
He grins and she tries to kick him in the face but misses and nearly topples over. She catches herself, and takes a deep breath.  
His hand had come up instantly, and he slowly lowers it.  
"Careful," he warns solemnly, and the sudden click between harassing her and fearing for her is so strange but so… comforting. "Lower yourself to the other side," he adds cautiously, "It's shorter— I'll be over in a moment."  
She hesitates but then slowly turns herself around to face the forest. She glances down and he's right, it's a good foot shorter than the garden wall which is a bit frightening. The walls are hardly designed to keep people out. The priority is keeping people in.  
She sighs and cautiously slips of the wall, landing rather hard in the grass on the other side. When she rights herself and looks up, it's into a forest of trees so thick she can't see past the third row. A strange excitement leaps around in the pit of her stomach as she turns back around to face the wall. She can see his hook and his hand settled upon it.  
"Coming?" she says anyway because she knows it will spite him. He huffs and pulls himself to the top of the wall, glaring down at her.  
"Swan-" he begins, but his mouth falls closed, eyes drifting to her left. She follows his gaze and nearly freezes when she catches sight of the guard at the exact moment he sees her. She sees him adding it up, and only a moment later he takes off towards them.  
"Dammit," she mumbles. She still is frozen in place, still unsure of what to do. She'd run from cops plenty, but this situation was different. She isn't necessarily doing anything wrong. Unless sneaking out is considered wrong, which as a 17 year old it may have been. But she's hardly a teenager anymore, and she's hardly doing anything wrong.  
No more than a second later she hears Hook land hard beside her. He stumbles to his feet and before she knows what is happening he's grabbing her hand and pulling her forward.  
"Run," he orders, dragging her towards the trees.  
It's sudden and seems unlike him but she doesn't question it a moment, taking off at his heels as the adrenaline courses through her body, dodging a new tree after every step. The guard is yelling for them to stop, but his voice keeps extending further and further into the distance.  
She doesn't know why, but there's something about rebelling with Hook that she likes.  
When he finally stops they both are panting. He's still holding her hand and they seem to both notice simultaneously as he quickly pulls away and she takes a step back. Her heart is racing and she isn't sure whether it's because of the race or something… else.  
"Aye, well," he finally mutters, slowly meeting her eyes, "I suppose that could be classified as a slight overreaction."  
He's standing up straight and sharp and she knows well he's trying to look casual but feeling awkward. She remembers when Blue was murdered, when he and Tink ran from Granny's and he'd pulled the same awkwardly casual stance. She'd looked right past it of course. Her mind had been elsewhere, jumping to what it's now safe to say were jealous assumptions.  
They stay that way a moment longer, staring at each other and trying to play it cool. But then she can't hold it in a moment longer and the laughter bursts from her lips. He looks even more awkward and unsure but then he's laughing too and her heart pounds even harder because damn he has a beautiful laugh.  
She hasn't laughed so openly in years, probably since she was a teenager and it feels good. She feels good. She is laughing so hard that now her stomach is aching and her head is spinning and she feels even better.  
It's minutes before they stop, and he keeps letting out intermittent choking noises that she slowly realizes are him trying to bite back even more laughter.  
"So was that the surprise?" she finally asks, and she grins at him. Grins. The expression feels so natural, despite how weird it seems. "Because I think you need a new definition of the word."  
He smirks at her.  
"You appear to be enjoying it," he tells her smugly, but then his expression softens, "Although no. Being chased by one of your guards certainly wasn't my intent. It most certainly was a surprise."  
He winks at her and she doesn't know why but she reaches out and shoves his shoulder gently. A smirk once again tugs at his lips.  
"Well?" she prods and he pauses a moment, before cautiously reaching towards her, towards her hand. She lets him take it and allows her eyes to slowly flutter up to meet his. He's still smiling but there's a softness in his eyes, an insecurity.  
"We're nearly there," he says, still watching her.  
He stares at her still longer before he finally tears himself from her gaze, stepping forward through the trees and holding brush out of her way with his hook. They walk about ten feet before he leads her past the last bit of brush, and they reach an open clearing in the middle of the trees. In the center a blanket from one of the bedchambers in the castle is lain out, a leather satchel upon it.  
She's never been on one before, but she's seen enough movies to know what it is. And how sweet it is. Her initial thought is to run. To run and run and never look at him again. She is scared of what sitting down beside him, what doing something so normal, could mean. What it does mean. But something makes her stay. Something makes her want to face this. She considers it a moment and forces herself to make her move.  
"Did you make me a picnic, Hook?" she asks teasingly, turning to face him.  
He clearly misses the teasing. He looks so anxious and young and just unlike himself, or at least unlike the mask he puts up.  
"I thought-" he begins, and his voice is nearly shaking.  
Emma's heart skips a beat and she tries to think of what she can say to fix this but it doesn't take long for her gut instinct to interrupt and for her to realize there are no words. There's nothing she's eloquent enough to put together that can fix this and tell him how she really feels. How touched she is and how outstanding it is to her that he can know her so well. That he can always be just what she needs. There's only one thing, one single crazy thing she can think of to do.  
She takes the small step between them, cautiously reaching up and resting her hands on his shoulders, wrapping her fingers around the worn leather. He tenses for just a moment, unsure. But she leans up on her tiptoes and tilts her face towards his, pausing just before their lips meet, watching how his bright eyes light up in recognition, in realizing what she's about to do.  
"Thank you," she whispers. Then she kisses him.


End file.
